


and his voice is a familiar sound

by summerwoodsmoke



Category: Lifeline (Video Game 2015), Whiteout
Genre: F/M, Other, POV Second Person, THAT BEING SAID, i tried to keep Player as nondescript as possible but she became a whole person whoops, pronouns are never used to describe Player, so you can think of them however you'd like to
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-21
Updated: 2017-01-21
Packaged: 2018-09-18 08:52:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9377465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/summerwoodsmoke/pseuds/summerwoodsmoke
Summary: You met Adams in March. Three days, and he changed your entire world without ever learning your name. You don't even know if you'll ever see him again.Five months later, your life gets turned upside down all over again.





	

**Author's Note:**

> dedicated to leslie, who loves adams even more than i do.

_It was a true pleasure spending the last three days with you._  
  
Adams' words echo in your head for hours, long after he says goodbye. Has it really only been three days? Since his first transmission, you’ve barely been able to focus on anything but his updates, trying to guide him to the best of your abilities while knowing so little.  
  
And now, after consuming your every thought for three days, now you both knew Sibellius was on the line, he’s gone.  
  
The sun is setting. You must be a few time zones ahead of wherever he is. You turn off your comm, and the white noise that had been spilling out of it stops.

 

* * *

 

Your coworker instantly notices something is up.  
  
"Wanna talk about it?" she asks quietly, leaning over her desk towards yours.  
  
"No, thank you though. It's just been...a weird couple of days."  
  
"Yeah, seemed that way. Good to see you out of your own head, though."  
  
You nod. She has a point. You’re pretty unproductive that day, so caught up in thoughts of where Blue and Adams might be, but you still get more work done that day than you had the past few days.

 

* * *

 

The city in March doesn't hold on to winter very well. That's fine with you; you don't like the cold much, but the white snow is the only backdrop you can picture Adams on, hazy as he is in your mind. The streets are grey and brown, so you put up with the cold and go to the park closest to your apartment.  
  
The snow is wet and heavy, and if it rains, it'll be gone in an instant, but for now, it's here, and you try not to think of men with pliers, men with guns, running through the snow. A woman is walking her corgi, and it's got a little coat on and booties on its feet. You think of Blue and smile.

 

* * *

 

A month goes by. Sometimes you turn your comm to the Adams frequency, just to listen to the static. Just to hope. It becomes a bad habit, a tic you can't get rid of. Once a day, at least, you stand and listen to the white noise on the other end.  
  
Even if you ever did get in touch with Adams again, it wouldn't be there, where Sibellius was. You know that. You still check.

 

* * *

 

You walk around your apartment, but the bathroom is in the kitchen, and that's how you know it's a dream. The toilet is in the corner instead of the dishwasher, and you think _Why would I ever use a toilet here?_ The bathroom mirror hangs over the kitchen sink, and when you look into it, there are two reflections.  
  
The second reflection is the same height as yours. It's of a man, his face screwed up in immense pain. He's yanking his own tooth out.  
  
"I don't want them to follow me, do I?" he says without moving his mouth. You shake your head. Then he says, "We'll do you next." There's a sucking sound, then a pop, and, in the reflection, he holds out the bloody tooth to you. You reach out to take it, not even controlling your own movements, and your hand slides through the mirror like it's an open window. He gives you the tooth, and it's warm and wet. You try to drop it, to move your hand, anything, but you can't move.  
  
"Are you ready?" the unmoving face asks. You try to shake your head no, because you are definitely not ready, not for _this_ , but you can't move. He leans in close to your reflection, lifting the pliers. You wonder if the metal will taste like blood in your mouth. You wake up right as they touch your lips.

 

* * *

 

 

Your birthday is at the end of June. It's also your favourite time of year, when the weather is hot, but not 'I can't do anything without becoming a puddle of sweat' hot. Your older sister Kara drives into the city to see you, and you plan to see your parents next week. The Friday closest to your birthday, your friends, roommate, and Kara take you out for your first legal drinks.  
  
"HAPPY TWENTY-ONE, WOOOOO!" one of your friends shouts over the loud music. You're sipping a margarita and trying not to laugh. The last coherent thought you have that doesn't involve dancing or getting home without falling over is something along the lines of: Shirley Temples today, gone tomorrow. It's a terrible mangling of the original idiom, but you think it's hilarious after that much alcohol.  
  
The next morning you wake up to Kara cuddling you and a pounding headache. You groan. If you ever do see Adams again, you might go for a Shirley Temple anyway, just to avoid something like this happening.

 

* * *

 

ALT terrifies you to the point that you try not to think about it at all. You have no idea what happened to the base after Adams left, how much of it survived. You have no idea if they want to do something to you. If they're looking for you.  
  
You searched them up, of course, in the days following the experience. (Using a computer at the public library, though, because apparently Adams' paranoia really rubbed off on you.) ALT is an international corporation. Nothing on their site or in the news indicates anything is wrong. But, you can't find a trace of Sibellius. You search for the program names you remember, the department Sibellius worked for, even his coworker, Pullmann—but you find nothing. For days, you can't decide if this makes you more or less worried for your own safety.  
  
On a good day, less. On a day when you wake up after a nightmare, it’s definitely more.

 

* * *

 

You keep visiting the park. It’s nice to go outside on your lunch breaks, to get away from the frigid blast of the AC that is kept on from April to October. So, even in August, you walk to the park on your lunch break, eat while you watch the kids and the dog owners, sweat through your shirt walking back, and freeze again within minutes of getting inside.

Not every dog you see reminds you of Blue anymore, thankfully, but huskies still do. There’s one at the park that day, playing with a little girl. The dog hops, half-turning before realizing the girl’s not throwing anything, then turns back to her and excitedly hops again. The girl’s not even holding anything, but she’s giggling nonstop, her hands clasped before her chest.

You’re standing up to throw out your sandwich wrapper when you hear “Blakely! Let’s go!” and watch the little girl run off. The dog doesn’t follow, just stays where it is, tail wagging. You cock your head in confusion. The dog wasn’t theirs.

You toss your wrapper in the bin, wondering whether to approach the dog and see if it has a collar, when you hear a voice call out, “Blue!” The dog’s tail wags even harder, and your stomach drops to your feet.

You watch, frozen by the garbage can, as a man (tall, taller than you ever imagined) wearing a baseball cap low over his face kneels before the huskie. The dog— _Blue_ —is going wild, wriggling all over, nipping at his jacket, tail going a mile a minute.

“Hey, buddy, hey,” he laughs. He pushes Blue’s face away from his jacket, reaches into his pocket and pulls out...a hamburger wrapped in a napkin. He pulls the patty out and lets Blue eat it out of his hand.

Unknowingly, you’ve been walking closer to them, until you’re standing about a foot away, one measly foot of space between you and the man you’ve been thinking of constantly for five months.

“Adams,” you whisper, and he tries not to react, you can tell, but you’re watching so closely, you can see the split-second tensing of his muscles, the slight pause of his hand on Blue’s back. He doesn’t look up, so you try again. “It’s your friend. It’s me.”

Half a beat more, then he turns and looks up, and you’re heart’s beating so loudly, it’s all you can hear, and your hands are clammy with sweat but you still want to reach out and touch his face, his strawberry blond beard, his mouth that is missing a tooth. His eyes are flicking back and forth, taking you in. You hold out a hand to help him up and he takes it, rising and rising until he’s probably, ridiculously, a foot above you in height.

“Is it really you?” His voice sounds different, and not just because it’s static-free and right in front of you. It’s...soft, breathy, not panicked, not scared.

“I know you said first round’s on you,” you reply, “But I am definitely buying you a drink.”

 

* * *

 

You brought Blue and Adams—Alfred, he’s going by now—back to work, leaving them outside while you went in and took the rest of the day off, citing a family emergency. You have no idea what you’re going to tell them when you go back, but you don’t care at all right now. Then you drive the three of you home, Blue cramped in the back of your two-door hovercar, Adams— _Alfred’s_ knees up by his chest.

“Sorry about the legroom, I’m used to just having me in here.”

“It’s no trouble. More comfortable than some bus seats I’ve sat in.”

Silence fills the car, aside from Blue’s panting. Adams’ looking around the car, smiling slightly.

“So, why Alfred, if I may ask?”

He looks up from the window control. “At one point we were holed up in a cabin that had TV and cable. It's where I picked up most of my day-to-day knowledge. But that first night we were there, I couldn't sleep, so I found a channel that was just playing movie after movie and watched till I fell asleep. The channel was doing a Hitchcock marathon, and it was great! So…” He shrugs with his whole arms. “Alfred. I like it. It’s...mine, y’know?”

You don’t know, because you were born in a hospital and raised by two wonderful men who gave you a name all your own because they loved you, but you nod anyways.

 

* * *

 

You realized pretty quick that as much as he loves to cuddle with Blue, Adams isn’t a big touchy-feely person. It’s a bit of a struggle for you, especially since you grew up with Kara, the cuddle master supreme, but you keep all your limbs to yourself while you sit on the couch.

You sit there on the couch together for hours, him being vague on details as he describes the last few months of his life, watching and reading and learning, and you probably going into too much detail as you do the same. You realize at one point, when you’re telling him about your roommate’s doctor visits, that you’re babbling, but he doesn’t look bored. He’s focused on you, on your face, absentmindedly petting Blue and smiling. You smile back and keep talking.

Sam, your roommate, texts you just after five. _Gonna stay over at Eli’s tonight_. Eli’s his boyfriend, and they toss it up between staying here and there pretty regularly. You’re relieved that they want some time to themselves tonight; you understand the feeling right now.

“Anything wrong?”

You look up and meet Adams’ eye. “No, not at all. What do you want for dinner?”

 

* * *

 

Over pizza, Ad—Alfred asks you how old you are. (He himself looks to be around thirty, which is so strange, knowing how old he is really. It’s hard to wrap your head around.)

“Twenty-one,” you reply, then laugh. “When we met though, I was twenty. It would’ve been Shirley Temples tonight if you’d shown up earlier.”

“You have a full time job, though?” You nod. “Aren’t most people your age in school still?”

“Yeah, I took a year off to save money. I’ll be going back part time at the end of this month.”

He nods thoughtfully and you hide your grin by taking a bite of pizza. He finds the smallest things fascinating. You kind of want to take him to a high school dance or something ridiculous like that, just to see how he’d react.

 

* * *

 

“Where’d you go, with the hovercar? Back in March.”

You guys are back on the couch now, Blue on it between you, his head on your lap and his tail in Alfred’s. The sun has set, the lights are off, and the TV has a _Law and Order_ rerun playing low. You watch the way the blue light plays on Alfred’s face.

“North,” he says quietly. He rubs a hand along Blue’s haunch and keeps his eyes on the TV. “The facility was in Oregon. We ditched the car in Washington, ended up in Canada, and headed east. We came back south into Minnesota, and we’ve just...kept going.”

“How long have you been here?” you ask, although you really want to ask about the west coast, and Canada, places you’ve never been, but you know how easily Adams gets distracted by your questions, how he can go off on tangents. You have to focus for the both of you.

“About a week. There’s a shelter not too far from the park. I was reading books about Cincinnati at the public library today.”

Fear shoots through your chest. Blue huffs. Your heartbeat pounds in your ears. You don’t want them to go. You don’t want _him_ to go.

“Cincinnati’s...okay,” you say, trying for blasé. He finally meets your gaze, and he looks bemused. You’re probably not coming across as chill as you’d like to be. “I mean...the zoo’s pretty good, but we’ve got one here! Really, what does Cincinnati have that we don’t? Nothing I can think of!” You’re rambling. You force yourself to stop, but it’s so, so hard to keep your mouth shut, to think straight when he’s looking at you so intensely, you can practically hear him asking you what he should do. His life isn’t in imminent danger, he’s been gaining his own life experience for months now, he doesn’t need someone to tell him what to do.

But, _oh_ , you want to tell him to stay.

You reach out and lightly, slowly, giving him space to stop it if he wants to, if he needs to, and you take his hand in yours, interlocking your fingers. He looks down at your hands and you do the same, taking in his long pale fingers against your shorter tan ones. His skin is rough, which strikes you as odd and a little sad, considering his body might not even be a year old. You look back up and wait for him to meet your eye.

“Please,” you falter. This can’t be you telling him. This can’t be a scared girl giving advice to a scared man over a frequency no one else can get. This has to be you, giving Alfred an option. “I would like it if you stayed. If that’s what you want.”

His eyes flick between yours. His hand tightens on yours. “Yeah,” he says hoarsely. He clears his throat and nods. “That’s what I want.”

You nod back, a little too fast, a little too happy. “Okay.”

Blue exhales, your hands moving where they rest on his side. You both laugh quietly. He lets your hand go and leans back into the couch, but he keeps his gaze on you. Wide-eyed and attentive and happy.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading! kudos and comments are much loved!
> 
> if you like, you can find me at tanosoka.tumblr.com and twitter.com/alinastarkovas


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